The Guardians
by ckmono
Summary: A short story on the subject of Kurogane's parents, from their first meeting to their marriage.


_**Disclaimer: **Do not own TRC. Don't presume to either. _

_**Author's Notes: **N/A_

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**_Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles: The Guardians_**

They met at a flower-viewing gathering. She was aware of the envy ofseveral sets of painted eyes and whispering lips behind paper fans and soft hands. He was aware of a disappointed sigh here and there, and a group of hopeful eyes, eager to see him ignored or politely turned away. They were strolling towards each other, both backs straight and chins up; he was wearing a new sword that he'd just gotten, and she her official robes as a priestess.At three paces each away from standing toe to toe with each other, they stopped. She lowered her head slightly, making sure still to keep eye contact with him; not glaring in order to look up at him though, but tilting her head so that she may meet his eyes softly, and see his face, seemingly more defined than many men she had seen. She bowed, her upper body coming gracefully to a stop at just the right angle, with just the right amount of her flowing, ebony hair to slip over her shoulders. As she straightened just at the expected time, she murmured an honorary greeting with a polite, respectful smile. He returned the greeting, his voice low, his bow just as smooth and controlled, but somehow stronger, blanketed with the strength of a ninja-warrior. His face was impassive, showing no emotion as taught by his masters. He did however, keep his dark, blood-red eyes locked with hers. It wasa grayish, oceanic colour, he noted.

They parted, past each other to their respective destinations; her to the pond nearby, him to the sparring field. A glance out of the corners of their eyes told them their results--the ladies were swooning at the intensity, the gentlemen were despairing at their lost potential quarry, and their families were very, very much pleased.

Later, she would be ushered from the pond to the sparring field, where she watched him win almost all the rounds, drawing on but a few. He would be invited (after he had cleaned up from the sparring) to sit under the largest cherry blossom tree, where he watched her lead the priestesses-in-training in dancing and singing a praise to spring. At dinner, they gathered with their families on adjacent blankets to eat.

By the end of the day, everybody considered them married. It was only a matter of picking the most auspicious time for performing the ceremony.

--

The next time they met was purely accidental--he had been fishing in the shallows of the river when she approached him from the forest leading back to town, a little distance away. He straightened up to face her, and realized suddenly that he looked somewhat---childlike, standing there with his trouser legs rolled up almost to his knees and a fish clutched in one hand. But he caught the fish, and to drop it would not make sense; so he stood there, wondering what she thought of him behind that small, polite smile.

"That seems a good bounty in your hand, Young Lord of Suwa," she said.

Well. He was not one to skip around subject matters either. "Most would say it is an unlordly thing to do, good bounty or not."

"Then you shall justify such an action as lordly with a noble reason, I am sure," she replied with a light, easy confidence.

"Then many will be sorely disappointed," he waded out of the lake, gauging her reaction; nothing. "I am simply getting a snack to eat."

"Tending to one's body's needs is reason enough," she approached him, but stopped five paces away, until he gestured to the grass beside him and threw her a questioning glance. She nodded demurely, and sat down beside him, their bodies two hand's width apart.

"I will be sorry to see this little one go," she said as he slid out a cutting dagger from a hidden sheath in one of his boots. "But it is how things are to be in life." Her words made him pause, the tip of the dagger against the skin of the fish, flopping pathetically under his large hand. He felt, all of a sudden, quite awkward.

After a moment, she seemed to realize what the matter was. "Would you like me to turn away?" She inquired smilingly.

"Yes," he replied instinctively, and after a heartbeat hastily corrected himself. "Well, no. That is, if you wish to, you are free to do so. Or if you wish so, I can take this somewhere else."

She chuckled lightly, her voice soothing like the flowing water, blending easily to become one of the constancies of his world. It was, he supposed, a voice he could fall asleep to, or listen to for hours on end if he had that kind of time, much like the tinkling wind chime or the rustling leaves.

"Warriors who fought the Monsters have been brought to me with crueler wounds," she replied quietly, her gaze returning to the fish, nowfeebly opening and closing its mouth. "Will you make it quick?"

"Of course," He gutted the fish in one firm stroke of the dagger, while she watched.

After stringing the fish so that he could carry it, he prepared to return home, and offered to escort her to her own abode; she accepted with an unhurried, gracious bow. On the way, she walked beside him, past other women with male companions, who trailed slightly behind. She had to walk faster to keep up with his strides, and although her robes seemed somewhat heavy, it did not seem to slow her.

"You seem confident," He started conversationally.

"I am -- competent," She answered with a thoughtful pause. "Whether it is enough to make me confident, I cannot say, I have yet to attempt to construct a barrier around all of Suwa. I only know though, that I do not want to be a burden to Suwa, or to its future Lord."

He made a low sound of approval, "Well, you will hopefully be reassured to know that I have no intentions of being a burden to Suwa, or to its future Guardian Priestess." She merely smiled in response.

They reached her house in a companionable silence, interrupted by the warm greetings of her family, and their inquiries after him and his family's well-being. He answered them all duly, and bidthem a good-night with a faint smile that only she, standing a pace from him, could see in the evening lamp-lights. Before he left, he reached out and tugged her plain shawl higher around her shoulders. He thought, a split second before lifting his hand, that he ought to have reminded her about the strong breeze tonight, considering the presence of others around them. He had however, never really been a man of words.

She seemed to understand that, as she bowed slightly and returned his good-night and cautioned him gently about the wind.

--

He noticed that they had a follower, while they were both looking over the displays of the lantern vendors. She has probably seen the follower too -- a young man, slightly younger than him, her age maybe; a farmer perhaps; definitely a clumsy stalker. The display they were admiring however, was particularly ornate, and he did not want to waste this evening with -- judging by the young man's expression -- uncomfortable questions. It was only until after they had both written each other's name on slips of colourful paper, and attached them to stalks of bamboo, and were half way to her home, did he remember about the youth. Truthfully though, he wanted to just forget about it -- they had an enjoyable time, and he could always ask her about it later. The youth was sure to be back, though he could not decide whether to simply catch him and tell him to stop his irksome pining, or to catch him and coach him on the finer points of stealth.

It was when they were at her home and he had presented her with a fan with the silhouette of a dragon sprawled on its spine, and they were ready to bid each other good night, he asked her. After all, he had been taught that matters were never to be delayed. The more delay, the greater the burden, and he was not sure if he could watch the youth being crushed by it any longer.

And so he asked, and watched her watch his face as expressions flickered across his eyes -- confusion, worry, suspicion, guilt, sympathy, and uncertainty.

"You are not obligated to marry me to be Head Priestess. You know that, right?" He finished quietly.

She let out a delicate snort, eyes alight with mirth, "You do not mean that, Young Lord. We are arranged to be married."

"Yes, I understand that. What I mean is, we can talk to our families if you do not wish for this marriage," He explained.

"Who would not wish for such a marriage? Most cannot even dream of it," she replied, still smiling.

He paused, frowning. "I did not know that you think this way, Priestess."

"I do not, Young Lord," she answered softly, but with a conviction that banished every suspicion of deceit from his mind. "But most do. Our families do. And, if I may be bold," she glanced up at him, her smile sharpened slightly by teasing, "you do too."

"Who would not?" He asked, and realized his mistake one moment too late.

"I did not know that you think this way, Young Lord."

He snorted, a soft grin threatening to give his stern countenance away, "Do not joke on this matter."

"Do you then, think this way?" She asked.

"Several months ago, when the arrangement was first announced, I admit that I did. Affection was -- not part of my thoughts then, as I did not know you well enough," he said. A silence followed his words; he felt her eyes on him, and met them without shirking.

"You are brave, to say such things," she commented quietly at last.

"I am only honest," he returned, and thought of the two slips of paper they'd written on, wiggling in the slight, warm breeze. He watched her still form as she seemed to hesitate, and then, somewhat shyly, take one of his hands in both of her own, staring at the head of the dragon tattoo.

"The one following us tonight is a figure of my past," she explained slowly. "We -- made promises to each other once. Young promises, promises that neither of us had the power to keep. We have both grown -- or at least, I hope so -- and we have both changed. I will remember him, but the memory of him will not control my present, or our future. I hope it is also so for him, in time." She smiled up at him, "You have no cause for worry. As I said, I will not be a burden."

He brought his other hand up to join hers, gave them a gentle squeeze, and smiled back wordlessly with a nod.

"Thank you, for the fan," she said as she let go and made to enter the doorway of her home, her voice a soft sensation on his ears, like the summer breeze on his skin.

"You are more than welcome," he answered, his voice a deep echo in her ears, warm like a blanket over her under a rumbling summer rain.

--

She was in the middle of raising a barrier over the western forests, where the medicinal herbs grew, when a messenger arrived. Even with her back turned to him, she could sense the urgency, the worry, could almost smell the dried blood on linen bandages, the ointments mingled with sweat.

"The Young Lord," The elderly priestess called to her. "He is gravely injured. It was the Monsters."

Her heart beat a cold pulse of fear, but her mind forcefully locked it away. Waving the dewy leaves in a wide arc, eyes clouded and voice steady, she uttered the power that brought the air surrounding the forests to life.

Later, in the silent, dark hours between the setting moon and the first sign of dawn, against the pulse of the distant air in her mind, she sat by his cot, separated from the others in a spare room for the sake of their privacy. She held his hand, wincing slightly at the gruesome gash that formed a shallow gorge from one shoulder all the way down to his bowels, and too close, too close to his heart. One forearm was striped with thin cuts that swelled about the edges -- something poisonous, she decided, racking her mind for the catalogue of Monsters and the wounds they would inflict, taught to her by master healers.

She could sense, rather than hear or see or feel, his calmed, restful breathing. Around them, the air of the room smelt of sweat, dried blood, dirt, and the almost suffocating spice of medicines. Beside the bed lay his sword, drawn from its sheath and laid with it on a clean piece of cloth. The metal was however bloodstained, and featured a lamentable chip off the blade. The sheath fared no better, mud caked and full of visible scratches, where he might have forced it up against feral claws and talons.

She took a slow, deep breath; then, stilling a shudder, she called his name cautiously, softly -- the first time she called his name.

He made no sound, did not smile, eyes still unmoving underneath the eyelids, breathing still the same pace. Yet she felt it anyways: a weak, but affirmative squeeze between her clean palms, lasting several moments before fading away.

When morning came and he woke up and she checked his wounds, she thought about apologizing, for arriving so late to see him, for being unable to attend to his wounds. The guilt might have shown on her face, because he called her name, and told her what they both knew, that this would happen many times over -- that perhaps one day, he would go and then die before returning to her again. Then he asked her, with a faint smile,how the barrier-casting went.

"The barrier is strong and well," She replied after a moment of surprise, with a confident, reassuring smile. "Once it is expanded over the entirety of Suwa, the Monsters will not dare to violate our lands so easily."

He returned her smile with a light smirk. "I have full confidence in that."

--

They were married just before winter, so that at the wedding feast, the bellies of each guest were filled with warmth, and they toasted to the couple's happiness with warm wine.

Later that night, they presented each other with their own gifts. He gave her a shawl the colour of the ocean, slightly heavy, like his embrace and his hands on her skin. She gave him a plain, ebony scarf, soft like her long hair spilling between their bodies, and the feel of his lips on it as he murmured her name.

Outside, Suwa was at peace.

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_Hope you've enjoyed reading; comments, questions, and constructive criticism much appreciated._


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